


Diamond Tongues

by mia6363



Series: Band AU [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Band Fic, Blow Jobs, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, M/M, Meet-Cute, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-27
Updated: 2019-07-27
Packaged: 2020-07-21 05:23:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19996567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mia6363/pseuds/mia6363
Summary: To say that Kira Yukimura had the voice of an angel or that Stiles was a smooth baritone would be wildly inaccurate. Their performances were littered with imperfections… but it was those imperfections that kept the crowdscreaming.





	Diamond Tongues

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Malapropian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Malapropian/gifts).



The air was cold, the lights were bright, buckets of cold water were sitting out of frame, waiting for use, and thick, unmalleable tension pulsed in the air. It was like a vibrating string on a guitar, tight, reverberating to create something beautiful, the tone low, like a gravelly song only performed in the darkest corner of the smokiest bars. 

Just a typical day filming for Diamond Tongues.

Finstock’s breath was visible as he held the camera steady. He had Erica as his AD and Isaac was there for additional camera work and props. Finstock readied his equipment, doing his best to not watch Kira Yukimura stretch on the warehouse floor. She moved like liquid mercury, and Stiles Stilinski was no different. They spoke in low voices, not whispering, but still private, sharing intimate smiles that made Finstock’s stomach twist every time he saw one. 

They pulled each other to their feet, both barefoot, both in loose pants and paper-thin white tank-tops. 

“All right,” Kira smiled at Finstock, and he smiled back. He’d given up on resisting returning affection a long time ago when it came to Kira Yukimura. “We’ll try to get this done efficiently. We know it’s cold.” 

Erica scoffed. 

“You’re the ones who’ll be in it the most.” 

The other band members, Danny and Boyd, stood to the side by the buckets of cold water. They had blankets around their shoulders, savoring as much warmth as they could before the big, soaking wet finale. 

Kira and Stiles found their marks easily. The moment their eyes found each other… the tension _snapped,_ reformed, and thrummed to new, electric heights. Erica still shivered, but Finstock swallowed down the urge, shifted his weight, and faced it head on as Stiles and Kira started to move, a savage push and pull, brutal, primal, and riveting. Stiles yanked his arm back, and Kira threw herself forward, spine dipped in, landing hard on the concrete. 

She rolled onto her feet, stepping forward in time to Stiles taking a step back, predatory. Her usually warm eyes now ice cold. 

Whenever her eyes would meet Finstock’s camera, he’d forget to breathe. 

Just a typical day filming for Diamond Tongues.

::::

“Oh God,” Erica took the thermos of stew that Isaac had brought, “I love you, Isaac, there is no one on earth that holds a _candle_ to your beauty, generosity, and spirit.” Finstock snorted at the flush on Isaac’s cheeks as he shoved a thermos into Finstock’s hands. Erica took a long sip and sighed dreamily. “Marry me, Isaac.” 

The shoot had been long, cold, and unforgettable. Finstock had planned to treat his crew to dinner, but Isaac was a step ahead. It was a hearty beef stew and the flavors seeped into Finstock’s tongue.

“This is fucking great,” Finstock sighed with delight.

Isaac ducked his head, hiding behind his own thermos. 

“I still need to work on the spice,” he swallowed, “it will be better next time.” 

Erica rolled her eyes. They had packed up their gear methodically, down to a science at this point. The car was packed, they’d shaken hands and yet Diamond Tongues still lingered on the far end of the parking lot. They were soaked, their clothes and hair water-logged. The footage looked great, but Finstock felt a dull pull in his chest when he saw them duck between their vans, throwing their wet clothes onto the pavement and, hopefully, pulling on something warmer. 

“So like,” Erica kept her voice low, “they’re totally fucking, right?” 

Neither Finstock or Isaac had to ask for clarification for _which members_ Erica meant. Isaac shrugged. 

“They never talk about it in interviews. I feel like, they would, you know, if they were together.”

“There is no _if,_ we’ve done video work at some of their live shows.” Erica shook her head. “There’s no way they’re not together.” She nudged Finstock’s sneaker. “What do you think?”

Kira emerged from between the vans in cozier sweatpants and a jacket that was too big to be hers. Stiles followed quickly after, his sweatshirt large, fluffy, and pulled to one side so his shoulder was exposed. He looked like he just rolled out of bed, not at all like he’d wrapped a music video that felt like the world’s most sexual, kinetic, and thrilling breakup. 

Before he could answer, the four of them sauntered over. 

“Thanks again,” Stiles’s sharp bone structure always made Finstock want to feed him. His voice was deep, but nothing close to the broken glass rasp that came out during their shows. He had a long neck and slender fingers. When he shook Finstock’s hand it was always firm and warm. “We’re going to be on tour in the summer, would you be free for photography and video?” 

Finstock had a hard time at looking at both of them. It was like staring at the sun, both of them so bright and warm together. 

“I’ll check my schedule. Even if I can’t make all the shows, I can work around some stuff.” 

Kira’s smile was blinding. 

“Awesome.” She leaned back against Stiles, her brown eyes twinkling as the held Finstock’s gaze. “You always capture me at my best.”

_Any and every angle is your best,_ Finstock he doesn’t say. _Sometimes you’re so beautiful I wonder if you’re even human,_ he **definitely** doesn’t say. He cleared his throat, but the words caught in his teeth. Before the silence could grow too awkward, Kira took pity on him. She pushed off Stiles’s chest and hugged Finstock. 

Finstock took a step back, the momentum startling him before he wrapped his arms around her lower back, giving her a squeeze as her hair tickled his nose. 

“Sure,” finally he could speak as she pulled away, “you make it easy.” Finstock wanted to swallow his tongue at how her brown eyes widened and he quickly continued. “All of you,” he gestured, to Stiles, Boyd, and Danny even though his eyes remained locked on her. “You can’t fake energy. You bring it every time. I just,” his shoulders were tense, “I just record it.” 

Kira backed up, her back against Stiles’s chest again. Stiles rested his chin on her head, his smile wide. 

“Not everyone can do it. You can. And,” Stiles scrunched his nose, and he lost the skeletal look in his face. His cheeks colored, his lips fell open and Finstock thought _Christ he’s young._ “You don’t _just_ do your job. You do great fucking work.”

“An artist in your own right,” Kira finished, her cheeks red from the cold. 

“Um,” Finstock wondered what his other clients would do if they saw him, stipped bare by some flattering words from a woman half his age. He was notoriously an asshole who kept it professional and valued directness over niceties. Yet here he was, stammering like a teenager while his crew watched with morbid fascination. “Thank you.”

Diamond Tongues left like they always did, cheerfully, generously, and the tension in the air always vanished the moment their car vanished on the horizon. 

Finstock, Erica, and Isaac all watched the van fade into a speck. 

“I hope I never see them have sex,” Erica sighed, resting her head on Isaac’s shoulder, “it would be so perfect I’d never be able to enjoy fucking someone again.” 

Finstock laughed, and hoped it was loud enough to cover the ache that lingered between his ribs. 

::::

Diamond Tongues got a following because of their live shows. 

To say that Kira Yukimura had the voice of an angel or that Stiles was a smooth baritone would be wildly inaccurate. Their performances were littered with imperfections… but it was those imperfections that kept the crowd _screaming._

Finstock owed a favor to the vendor, so he was at a Diamond Tongues show by chance…

He would never forget watching Stiles and Kira on stage, touching each other, breathing each other in, more intimate than anything Finstock had ever seen in public. It wasn’t smooth enough to be choreographed, and it was too spontaneous to be sexy. It was something else, like watching an entirely different species. 

They only had eyes for each other, Kira pulling Stiles’s hair to expose his neck as she sang into his microphone. The trust in each other’s bodies made Finstock’s mouth dry as he watched Stiles drop to his knees during that first show, his face pressed against Kira’s stomach as she sang to the audience. Each movement had people shrieking, heat rising from the audience’s shared breath. 

_God, they’re fucking gorgeous together,_ was the repeating thought in his mind, a mantra as he snapped off shots of them, of her hands in his hair, of his mouth pressed against her cheek. 

The final image he got, on their last song moments before the lights cut out, was Stiles on his knees, facing the audience, his legs open, his back arched, and his neck exposed. Kira had his hair in her fist, her grip firm, and one leg over his shoulder as though she were frozen halfway stepping over him, her arms caged around him as she sang. 

_Fuck,_ Finstock got that last photo, an electric thrill shooting down his spine as those brown eyes captured him, _**fuck.**_

With her long black hair and pale skin, she looked like a witch, and Stiles was her loyal servant. 

When Kira approached a few weeks later with storyboards for their first music video, Finstock was immediately on board if it meant he’d have another chance to see them together again.

Somewhere along the way, it stopped being about them, until it was just… her. 

::::

“Ballet?” Finstock smiled, leaning back in his chair. He stretched his shoulders, testing the restrictions of his one nice dress shirt. “Now that you mention it, I can see it.” 

Kira Yukimura was a vision. Finstock would argue that she was always a vision, though there was something special about her in soft candlelight, at a nice restaurant in a dark, intimate corner. 

Usually when he went over blocking for future videos or touring schedules, it was both of their crews at a diner drinking coffee and eating fries. It was always a rambunctious night where Finstock, Erica, and Isaac would be on one side of the booth while Diamond Tongues would be sprawled out across the rest of the space. Finstock would always leave with a sore stomach from laughter. 

Work dinners were never at a nice, atmospheric French restaurant, and they were never just him and Kira.

"Yup, I started when I was four, but once I was older I moved more toward contemporary.” She ran her fingers through her hair, pulling on it a little as she smiled. “Being prim and pretty isn't," Kira smiled, her hands pressing against the table on either side of the single candle, "interesting to me. I like making people uncomfortable with ugly movement."

Finstock leaned forward, full of delicious food with the promise of French pressed coffee on the way. 

“Ugly is a lazy word.” He watched Kira’s face fall in surprise, a flicker of shock furrowing between her brows. The waitress dropped off their coffee and it was silky-smooth on his tongue. “Distinct. Unique. Compelling.” His large fingers felt clumsy around the delicate cup. He wondered, not for the first time, why Kira picked this restaurant. “It demands attention.” 

Coffee was refilled, and by the time they asked for a check there were no more patrons left. It was nice, a long, intimate conversation between colleagues. Friends? Friends. Still, as Finstock held the door open and Kira smiled at him, wearing a dark blue dress with a high white collar with gold buttons, he wondered. The hairs on the back of his neck rose, the tension returned to the air but it made no sense. 

Stiles wasn’t with them. 

“This was nice,” Finstock said because it was true. The chilled night air cut across Finstock’s cheeks and it was a relief, easier to focus on the cold than the knots forming in his stomach. “I’d never heard of this place, it was… I guess I don’t really treat myself? I’m more of a diner guy,” he turned, walking backwards so he could keep his eyes on Kira. “Not that diners are bad or anything—”

He wasn’t prepared for a soft, warm hand to find his, their fingers tangled together. Time slowed to a charged crawl. His heart beat wildly as he started to notice that Kira was blushing, her smile was sweet and hopeful. Finstock was sweating and all he could think was _is this really happening? Am I dreaming?_

“Would you want to do this again sometime? You can pick the place, if you want to, you know,” and if Finstock thought Kira was beautiful when she was commanding the stage, it was _nothing_ compared to her nervous sincerity, “go out again.”

The immediate instinct was to shout _**yes**_ with so much feeling that it would erase the doubt that covered Kira’s face like a veil. If Finstock were more romantic, he’d kiss her hand, smile with the confidence that he definitely _didn’t_ have in that moment, to set a date. His hand shook in hers. 

“What about,” we swallowed the lump of terror and hope that threatened to choke him, “what about Stiles?” 

Kira blinked. 

“What about him?”

It was the most flippant Kira had _ever_ been in terms of Stiles. Finstock was clammy, raw and exposed. He licked his lips nervously, heat consuming him when he watched her eyes follow his tongue. 

“He’s your,” Finstock gestured with his other hand, no words grand or accurate enough to describe what Kira and Stiles were when they were _together._ “You know.” Finstock exhaled when Kira kept looking at him, like Finstock was spouting nonsense. He sighed. “I’m not polyamorous. I’m not wired that way.” 

He anticipated awkward assurance from him, the promise that it was no problem, that Kira should pay it no mind. She arrested his attention whenever she was in a room, but there were some things Finstock couldn’t do. It was no one’s fault. 

He didn’t expect Kira to frown, squeezing his hand while pure bafflement bloomed on her face. 

“I’m not polyamorous either.” Her voice cracked and her breath shook. “I’m not sure why you would think that I am.” 

Finstock’s brain was officially in a mid-nineties anti-drug ad: a broken egg on an unoiled cast iron pan. 

“Wait,” he shook his head, “back the fuck up for a minute. _What?”_

::::

“You’re out of your fucking mind if you think you’re leaving here with that Tom Waits record.” 

Those were the first words Stiles ever said to Peter. 

Peter had just gotten off work, which had been the end of a grinding six days of constant overtime while bending over backwards to twist the law into malleable putty in his hands. Instead of immediately going home, kicking off his shoes, taking off his clothes, and passing out before he could try and convince his dick to get hard for a quick, routine jerk— he decided to treat himself to some new records to listen to the next morning while he hunched over coffee. He had just lifted the last Tom Waits record when a deep, raspy voice interrupted him. 

He turned, ready to cut the idiot off at the knees who thought, at best they were being cute, and at worst, intimidating.

Then he saw him… and words left him. 

Stiles Stilinski had that effect on people, though he claimed to have no knowledge of his power. Peter was struck mute by his beauty, by long legs in dark denim, a shirt riddled with holes, chipped black nail polish, and dark smudges under his eyes… all accented a beautiful creature. He smirked, at the time utterly nameless to Peter, and waggled his eyebrows. 

“How about I graciously give you this record even though I did get here first,” Peter would never forget how Stiles raised his eyebrows with just a hint of his tongue poking between his teeth, “and I buy you dinner.” 

Stiles took the record. 

“Fucking _deal,”_ he looped his arm through Peter’s and batted his eyelashes at him. “After you.” 

That night, Stiles kissed him, a playful chaste _snap_ of their lips that Peter brought back for something longer, fuller, chasing the taste of wine and hitched breath. They exchanged numbers, and the next date Peter was yanked into Stiles’s apartment and didn’t leave until the next morning.

They kept seeing each other, clothes and toothbrushes migrated to each other’s apartments, and then… then it was time to admit it was not just a fun series of flings.

That was when Stiles told him to come to a show. _I want you to meet my best friend,_ he’d said while kissing Peter sweetly, knowing that it was gentle caresses that weakened Peter’s knees more than slick tongues and teeth. _We can get dinner after the show and you can meet everyone. If you want._

Peter did want, he wanted that very, _very_ much. So he went to the show. And he saw Stiles… and he saw Kira… 

He saw what they were together. 

Once the acidic nausea had passed, his first thought was _of course._ There was always _something,_ and while usually it was annoying habits or dismal tastes in music, Stiles’s _something_ was much larger. It was another _love,_ one that had Stiles on his back on the stage with Kira standing over him like a spectre. 

Peter didn’t know what was worse, watching an hour of primal intimacy that Peter hadn’t come _close_ to achieving play out for a starving crowd, or the fact that once he met her… Kira Yukimura was lovely.

_It’s so good to meet you,_ she laughed with a wide grin moments before she hugged him, _Stiles told me so much but I was so tired of waiting to experience you myself._

She asked him questions about himself, she introduced him to the rest of the band, and she was so attentive and excited that Peter almost could forgive her for… for letting Stiles wander to ensnare hearts when his was so obviously taken. 

Almost. 

“So,” Stiles went home with Peter that night, a stinging bubble of pride bursting in Peter’s chest at the miniscule victory, “um, yeah. That was my best friend in the whole world. She was exaggerating I don’t talk about you _all the time_ maybe like eighty percent of the time.” Peter, who could charm judges and attorneys alike, struggled to reply as he hung his jacket on the rack. Stiles kicked off his shoes and pressed himself up against Peter’s back. “I know that… our sound isn’t really to your taste I just wanted you to see what I do. And to meet my friends.” 

Peter should have ended it right at that moment. The pain in his chest was too great, every point of contact of his body and Stiles was like a knife. He had been humiliated. Maybe even humbled. He’d grown comfortable with his own vanity to think that… he could just assume someone would be exclusive without asking. 

It was a brutal lesson, but one that Peter would never forget. 

“Peter?” He turned, ready to reply that he didn’t share, and he didn’t appreciate being a pawn in whatever _game_ Stiles was playing. But then he saw Stiles’s hopeful smile, the concerned worry that weighed down his brows, his expression devoid of maliciousness. “I know it’s a lot. The band,” he waved his hand, “all of it. If you can’t be with me I,” Stiles’s voice _cracked_ and Peter’s arguments crumbled, “I get it.” 

Funny, how unshed tears could illuminate a brutal truth. 

Peter kissed Stiles, harder than he would have liked, but he had to hide his shaking hands. 

“I want you. Anyway you will allow me to have you, that’s all I want.” 

Stiles smiled into the next kiss. 

“I want that too,” he breathed against Peter’s neck, “I want that so much.” 

Compromise, Peter told himself, was essential to any relationship. Peter was greedy, selfish, and shameless in pursuing what he wanted. If Stiles couldn’t give himself fully… that was fine. 

Peter would take everything he could get. 

::::

On a Wednesday night two years later, everything changed. 

Stiles had moved in, another _victory._

Sure, Stiles had Kira, but he _lived_ with Peter. Peter took _every_ inch he could, every _I missed you, Peter_ was warmth in his chest that would linger when Stiles would be on tour, or when shows ran late and Stiles didn’t crawl into bed until three in the morning. Kira might be… well, _Kira,_ but Peter knew that Stiles liked to dance in the kitchen to old music that crackled and popped on the record player. He knew that Stiles’s favorite socks had a hole in the right toe, he knew that Stiles called his father twice a year and would _always_ retreat into Peter’s arms after. He knew that Stiles loved it best when Peter woke him up with short, playful kisses on his cheek. 

Peter _knew_ that Stiles still smiled with delighted surprise when Peter would whisper _I love you_ against his lips. 

Wednesday had been ordinary, all things considered. Stiles had been at the studio editing their latest shoot. He was home by nine when Peter was in the shower. Stiles stripped off his clothes and joined him, his movements sluggish from exhaustion but he still kissed him, sliding to his knees and mouthing along Peter’s hip. 

“Oh,” Peter’s breath made the water mist around his lips, “Stiles, darling, you don’t need to,” he shuddered as Stiles sucked him into his mouth, “ _ah, oh,_ you’ve had a long day—” 

Stiles pulled back and rolled his eyes with an exasperated grin. _Another moment to covet,_ Peter thought. 

“Shut up, all right? I love you and I really, _really_ want to suck your dick.” 

Peter had gone to sleep with the pleasant ache from scratch marks on his back, Stiles snoring lightly by his side. 

When Stiles was in Peter’s bed, which was most nights when he wasn’t touring, Peter wouldn’t dream. Stiles’s presence warded off subconscious worry and Peter was just left with deep _satisfaction_ and happiness acting as his blankets. 

That Wednesday, Peter was startled awake by Stiles’s phone ringing. 

“M’sorry,” Stiles sat up, scrubbing his face with one hand while fumbling with the nightstand with the other, “I got it.” Usually Stiles would hang up, but Peter watched as the light shrank Stiles’s pupils down to painful pinpricks as he looked at the screen, and all annoyance fell from his face as he accepted the call. “Kira,” Peter closed his eyes even though it was too late to shield himself. He turned away so he didn’t have to see Stiles’s face when he got out of bed. “What’s up?” 

He squeezed Peter’s ankle before he left. 

Peter didn’t bother going back to sleep. He sat up, turned on the light, and did his best _not_ to pout because Peter was an adult man and adult men didn’t pout. _He still lives with me,_ Peter thought, _there’s so much of him that is **mine.**_ That could be enough. It _would_ be enough. 

He pulled a book onto his lap and cracked it open even though he knew he wouldn’t retain a word. Not when his ears were straining, his lips twisting at a loud guffaw and a _holy shit are you serious_ that was soaked in surprise and delighted mischief. He listened to the floor creak, to Stiles lowering his voice to a more respectable volume. Peter didn’t need to hear the words to hear the continued smile, the relaxed intimacy that came with shared history and artistic drive. 

Peter waited for the low laughter coupled with _yeah, yeah I’ll see you._ There was a longer pause that night, which was unusual. He’d heard Stiles talk to Kira countless times, and their goodbyes were always short with the promise of seeing each other soon. The pause… the pause was different, and long enough to make Peter frown. 

Stiles opened the door, his shoulders slumped. Peter cleared his throat.

“Is everything all right?” 

“Yeah,” Stiles nodded and sat on top of the blankets, which meant that Stiles wasn’t _sure_ if everything was fine. “Kira just,” Stiles frowned for a brief moment before he shook the expression away, “she was on a date, well, she was _trying_ to arrange a date for, you know, the _future,_ she didn’t just ambush Finstock with a date or anything.” 

“Sure,” Peter nodded like he knew what Stiles was getting at.

Stiles raised his eyebrows, a silent _bullshit._

“Right, well, so she goes for it, right? Dinner’s over and she wants to set up another one with the explicit purpose of it being a _date_ because even-footing and consent and all that good stuff,” Stiles’s hands shook. He was _nervous._ Peter straightened, dread pooling in his stomach. “And she takes his hand, because that’s kinda harmless, you can break it easily if it’s uncomfortable. Like could you _imagine_ just like, going in for a kiss like, out of nowhere?” Peter didn’t mention that Stiles kissed him exactly like that. Not out of nowhere, mind you, with a lot of flirting and innuendo, but it was sudden. A movement. A connection. “So Kira goes for the hand. Asks him out.” 

Peter reached out to press his hand over Stiles’s fingers. 

“Stiles, are you all right?” Peter winced, hating asking stupid questions but needing to say _something,_ to try and give Stiles a chance to breathe. “Do you want to talk about it?” 

“Yeah, Peter, that’s what I’m trying to do.” Stiles flipped his palm over so he could grip Peter’s hand. “Finstock said he wasn’t polyamorous. Because he thought her and I were together. Which is ridiculous because we’re not.” 

Two words. Two fucking words and suddenly Peter’s entire sense of balance was gone. 

Stiles’s never-ending chatter continued, picking up phrases when he could make out the words over his thundering heartbeat. Things like _thank God Kira can think on her feet,_ and _wanted me to double-check with you._ Peter kept sucking in air, trying to get a sense of gravity back. His mouth was dry, cold sweat clung to his back, and Peter need to get a hold of himself. 

“Peter,” Stiles took his hand back, his brown eyes wild, “Peter, you didn’t think…” 

Stiles _really_ looked at him… and all the color left his face. 

::::

Stiles believed in soulmates, but not in the way that most folks did. 

When he met his soulmate, the world _did_ stop turning, the lights in the open-mic softened just for him, and he had a rush of clarity of _this person is my other half._ Back when everything was just stardust in the void of space before it all _ignited,_ Stiles’s star bits and Kira’s star bits must have been in the same pocket of space. 

After the show, he’d approached the girl with the voice like crystal bells on a summer breeze, and that, as they say, had been that. 

They were best friends, two weird kids whose voices didn’t sound similar at all, whose bodies were different, but together… 

Together they were something compelling and uncomfortable. 

Stiles had never thought about it. They were best friends. The comfort they had in each other was… a universal absolute. 

_We’re best friends._ Stiles never _needed_ to explain it to anyone before, and for the first time he wondered if that was a mistake. Did he _need_ to clarify? Why should he? Shouldn’t they be trusted to know what they were to each other, to contextualize if anyone had any question? Kira did it so effortlessly, Finstock made an incorrect assumption and she corrected it.

Stiles never corrected anything. He didn’t know there was a wrong to right. 

His immediate action was to shove his fingers into his mouth, his spindly fingers blocking his airway to smother the screams that threatened to burn him from the inside. He recoiled, his vision too blurry to see anything but the flesh-colored _smudge_ that was his boyfriend. His _boyfriend_ that he _loved,_ his _boyfriend_ that he _lived with,_ his _boyfriend_ that… that had thought that… 

“I would _never_ leave something as big as _that_ unsaid.” Stiles dragged his hand out of his mouth, not caring that he was being super gross and gesturing wildly with spit-slick fingers. “I _know_ you’re not poly and you just, _what,_ settled?” 

Warm hands closed on Stiles’s shoulders, a comforting grip that Stiles basked in, that he called _home._

“Stiles, I’m sorry, I thought—”

“You thought that I would treat you like that, without _any_ conversation about boundaries?” 

Thoughts spiraled viciously and without control in Stiles’s mind. Things he noticed and had shrugged off as _just a Peter thing._ How he didn’t like to come to shows, how he touched him less when they were all out to dinner with the band. How he’d… _fuck,_ how he’d ask Stiles to shower after he’d spend the night editing and storyboarding with Kira, how Stiles had _laughed_ about it. 

Stiles stood up, nearly tripping on the sheets that clung to his legs. He had to clean his face, cold water doing nothing for his numb face and buzzing fingertips. Wood creaked. 

“I meant what I said,” Peter was still calm, somehow, and Stiles felt vile and exposed. “After the first show I went to, I said, ‘I will take whatever you are willing to give me.’ After watching you perform with Kira… I thought that meant filling in whatever gaps she wasn’t. You had found the love of your life already, but maybe you needed something more.” 

_“You’re_ the love of my life.” Stiles caught the flicker of delight on Peter’s face, the bastard. He gently dapped Stiles’s face dry, his other hand firm on Stiles’s back. Stiles sighed, his lungs still catching on his inhales. “You’re an idiot. Next time _talk to me._ Or, better yet, you think I’m really pulling that kind of shit on you without asking you about it, _dump my ass.”_

::::

They ended up on the couch, Peter digging through the closet to unearth Stiles’s favorite blanket, a quilt stitched together by his grandmother. He grabbed M&Ms out of their freezer and made a pot of chamomile tea. Stiles was curled up on one end of the couch by the time Peter sat next to him. Stiles lifted the blanket and Peter crawled underneath. 

“Pizza is on the way,” Peter assured Stiles. 

Stiles nodded, his eyes puffy and his breath shaking. Peter kept his arms tight around him, his fingers gently stroking above the skin that covered his heart. He breathed with Stiles, easing him back into a healthy rhythm. Once he could breathe without the air being stammered and stiff, Stiles twisted around, pressing his forehead against Peter’s chest. 

“I love you,” Stiles’s breath warmed Peter’s shirt. “And _you_ never have to settle for anything or _anyone.”_

Stiles pushed back to kiss him, a brand that burned across Peter’s mouth. Peter eased him into a gentler affection with his tongue and light nips of his teeth, his palm smoothing down Stiles’s vertebrae, settling on his hips. Stiles was diligent and thorough in his affection, and Peter found it wonderous that even after crying, Stiles carefully wrung moans out of Peter. Stiles fed him affection until Peter could hardly breathe. 

Peter’s lips were numb when Stiles pulled away. 

“I love you too.” Peter kissed the corner of Stiles’s mouth, then the arch of his cheekbone. “I believe I owe Kira an apology.” 

“Yeah,” Stiles laughed, “no shit.” He kissed Peter’s nose. “I’ll get the plates ready, I think I heard the pizza guy pull in.” 

Peter watched Stiles get up, his shirt riding up for a moment before Stiles tugged it down, rolling his shoulders. A familiar sight that he’d seen a million times, yet it felt like the first. Peter gently pushed the quilt off his legs and stood when the doorbell rang. 

::::

Kira stripped off her shirt and held out her hand, closing it when she felt Boyd put a shirt in it. 

“Thanks, I think I sweat through like… that shirt permanently. There’s no saving it.” Kira pulled on a large t-shirt from Boyd’s college. “Thanks.” 

Stiles dragged a towel down his face, shirt off and doing his best to shake some fresh air into the cloth. 

“I’m going to devour the first thing I see.” Danny slid his pants down to flash his ass and Stiles rolled his eyes. “I don’t know what I was expecting, but you always deliver, Danny.” 

Packing up after a show was second nature, meticulous and quick. The van was loaded down, the metal creaking as they closed the door. Boyd’s phone pinged.

“Isaac dropped a pin. They’re at a diner, twenty minutes away.”

“Tell them to order a mountain of curly fries.” Stiles slumped into the backseat as Danny started the van. “And six burgers.”

Kira crawled into the backseat and her arms and lap were immediately occupied with Stiles, his head resting against her chest. Stiles’s weight was always a comfort against her body, an anchor that kept her from shaking apart after shows. The hum of the van’s wheels was hypnotic, and usually Stiles was out cold in moments. His eyes dropped, but he scrolled through his phone, heaving out a sigh as van drove over a pothole. 

“Maybe Peter can join us for dinner?” 

“No,” Stiles let his head fall back on Kira’s chest, “he’s working late tonight. Just got the text.” 

Kira kissed Stiles’s forehead. Peter had been coming to more shows, noticeably less tense. Kira had thought he just didn’t like the loud nature of their music, how they’d laugh loud at dumb inside jokes that happen on the stage. Guilt still nibbled at her, though she knew whatever she felt was nothing compared to Stiles. 

They picked a parking space on the far end of the lot. Danny and Boyd led them, Stiles rubbing exhaustion from his eyes. Kira ducked under Danny’s arm as he held open the door. The bell rang above them and Kira’s sneakers squeaked on tile. 

She spotted Bobby right away. 

He was a hard man to miss, but Stiles insisted she had a radar for him. Isaac and Erica were in the booth, and the moment they looked up and caught Kira’s eye, Bobby turned. Kira grinned, not caring that her hair was sticking to her face or that she definitely pulled something in her leg while twisting around on the stage. Her steps faltered, because the instinct was to run, pull him into a kiss and a hug, but then she saw the man beside him. 

“Holy shit,” Stiles blew past Kira, “you asshole!” Stiles collided with Peter Hale, knocking him back into the table and making the forks clatter on the laminate. “What the hell are you doing here?” 

Danny and Boyd slid next to Erica and Isaac. Bobby hugged Kira and she leaned into the smile pressed against her cheek. 

“He wanted to surprise Stiles,” Bobby shrugged, his lips pulled into the fake frown he wore when he was bashful. “I just helped him out a little.” 

Kira kissed him so she could taste his smile.

**Author's Note:**

> This is for Mal! Based on the band July Talk because [**just WATCH** ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3ctjulrl6v8)some of their performances please, and you tell me how they make you feel. Intense intimacy from another fucking planet. So I made this into a series because I didn’t have the time to really delve into other characters and stuff so. Here we are. Now I can if the mood takes me. I hope this was enjoyable!
> 
> I’ll still be active on tumblr for the time being, but there are other ways to find me. [**Here**](http://mia6363.tumblr.com/about) you can see a little breakdown of other places to find me and the other things I do in relation to these fics (journals/behind the scenes, playlists, head canons). [**So click on over** ](http://mia6363.tumblr.com/about)to get the full rundown!


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